


thousand armies couldn't keep me out

by bemusedlybespectacled (ardentintoxication)



Series: Maleval Week 2014 [6]
Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Comic Book Violence, Crime Fighting, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Maleval Week, Past Rape/Non-con, Scars, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:43:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2082492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentintoxication/pseuds/bemusedlybespectacled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I don't want your money</i>
  <br/>
  <i>I don't want your crown</i>
  <br/>
  <i>See, I've come to burn your kingdom down.</i>
</p><p>By day, she's a wealthy heiress and he's her personal assistant. By night, she's the Queen of the Night and he's the Raven. Together, they fight crime.</p><p>For Maleval Week: the day 6 prompt was "Playing With Children (+Scars)."</p>
            </blockquote>





	thousand armies couldn't keep me out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheSilverTrumpet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSilverTrumpet/gifts).



> Because TheSilverTrumpet asked for a superhero/supervillain AU, and making Maleficent the lovechild of Batman and Scarlet Witch is fucking fun.

As Diaval takes another harsh blow to his solar plexus, he asks himself yet again why he thought it would be a good idea to move to Moor City. Its crime rate is second only to St. Louis. The subway and LRT are constantly delayed. And occasionally roving street thugs will attack unsuspecting passerby and beat them savagely after taking all their hard-earned money. Case in fucking point.

The guy taking his turn has rings on, and is amusing himself by slapping Diaval across the face, backhanding him with first his left, then his right. When his nose breaks, Diaval realizes, somewhat distantly, that he's probably going to die. This isn't a simple mugging, this is a bunch of sadists looking to get their fix. They're not going to stop until he's not entertaining anymore. He's going to die, and for some reason he's almost disappointed. Sure, he wasn't expecting his life to amount to that much, having fucked most of it up thus far, but if he dies now, he'll never have the chance to do better.

It occurs to him that he gets philosophical as fuck when he's in pain.

One of them starts dragging a knife around Diaval's neck, not enough to kill but enough to hurt, and he sinks to his knees, unable to hold himself up anymore. Then he falls forward, curling into a ball to protect himself. A foot kicks him sharply in the ribs, and he braces himself for more.

Nothing.

They're yelling something, but he's not really paying attention to words right now. His ears are ringing and his head hurts. There's a sound like a body hitting the ground, shoes on asphalt.

And then someone touches his face. He flinches away reflexively, but the hand on his face is firm, turning it so that whoever-it-is can look at him. He opens swelling eyes to look back.

It's a woman. Her hair is tucked into a cowl and her face is covered by a mask, but he's pretty sure it's a woman, because he recognizes it. It's on television all the time, the mask of the vigilante who terrorizes criminals and police alike. The newspapers are filled with speculation as to who she is, and no one knows what her name is. They call her the Queen of the Night.

And now she's looking at him with a quizzical expression, shining a light into his eyes.

"Ow," he says.

"You have a concussion," she says. "Can you stand?"

He can't shake his head when she's holding it like this. "No?"

"Fantastic." She scoops him into a bridal carry.

"What are you-?"

"I'm getting you out, unless you want to still be here when the cowards who ran come back and see their friends are dead."

"Yeah, no."

" _Yeah, no_ ," she repeats sarcastically. "Shut up and go to sleep." Then, more gently, "I'm not going to hurt you."

He decides it's okay for him to close his eyes, just for a little while.

* * *

When he opens his eyes again, he's groggy and disoriented and slightly itchy. He blinks, confused. Wherever he is, it's not a hospital. He's been in enough of them to know when he's in one, and this room, with its dark hardwood floors and sumptuous bed linens, is not. The door opens, and there she is, the Queen, still in her cowl. From this angle, he can see all of her costume: black leather, tight, with a flared collar at the neck.

"Where am I?" he asks.

"You're in my-" she pauses, a bit embarrassed, "my lair."

"It's nice," he says, truthfully. It's several steps up from any apartment he's ever had. "How did I get here?"

"You were attacked," she says. "One of the Linchpin's bruiser gangs. This isn't the first time they've tried to beat someone to death, this is just the first time I've caught them early enough to make a difference. I took you back with me before the head trauma and bleeding killed you."

He frowns. "Are you a nurse?"

"No," she says. "I can do magic."

"You what?"

"I healed you with magic. That's my power."

"Oh," he says.

"Although...." Instead of elaborating, she picks up a mirror from the nightstand and holds it so he can look. There's some scarring on his face, fresh and pink, just on either side of his face. There's more scars down his neck and chest, and yellowing bruises on his eyes and cheekbones.

"Oh, no," he says, trying for levity. "What did they do to my beautiful self?"

He can't really tell behind the cowl, but he's pretty sure she's raising her eyebrows at him. "I couldn't heal them properly, there wasn't enough time."

"It's fine," he says, though it really isn't. It could be worse - maybe in the right light he'd look dangerously dashing - but scars turn people off, he knows that. He certainly won't be able to go back to waiting tables like this, not when the management won't even hire folks with tattoos or piercings.

Maybe he can try drug running again. No one in that business cares if the mules are roughed up. Or maybe...

"Thank you," he says, "for saving my life."

"It's my duty," she says stiffly.

"Whatever you need, I'll do it," he says.

Her eyes gleam. "Anything? Do you mean that?"

"Yes." He decides to be straight with her. "I don't have anything else. I don't care if I'm your servant or your sidekick, I just- I need to be _something_. I don't want to go back to where I was. _What_ I was."

Behind the cowl, her eyes are thoughtful. "Very well. But if you betray me, I will not hesitate to kill you."

It's not the first time he's heard that particular threat. "I understand."

She reaches behind her head, undoing the cowl, then takes off the wig cap under it, her long hair spilling down her back. She extends her hand. "Maleficent."

He shakes it. "Diaval."

* * *

_Three Years Later_

Living with Maleficent isn't more difficult than any other job he's ever worked, but it's different. By day, he's officially the personal assistant to the CEO of Federated Aegis Enterprises, a minor cog in the corporate machine. By night, he's the Raven, though only she knows that he calls himself that (and laughs every time).

Most of the time he doesn't go out. He cleans the mansion, mans the comms in case she calls for backup, prepares comfort foods and drinks for when she comes home, because God knows she won't think to cook anything herself. Maleficent, left to her own devices, will happily ignore things like food and sleep if it means taking down her enemies.

"What enemies?" he asked her once.

"The Linchpin and his gangs," she'd said. She never says why and he never asks.

Sometimes she has a job for him, but it's almost never fighting the bad guys. She'll send him to a warehouse to plant a magic surveillance bug, his footsteps so soft that no one sees him enter or leave. She'll buy him a new suit and send him to a club, where he'll sweet-talk a gangster's squeeze into slipping him the dates of the next shipment of guns. He finds the scars are useful: when that's all they're looking at, it's easy for them to forget everything else. And since Diaval McKennon, PA, covers his scars with makeup and rarely interacts with anyone in person besides his boss, they're a pretty effective disguise.

Tonight is no different from any other night. He's made two chocolate protein shakes, a pot of tea, and cheesy scalloped potatoes. She's supposed to be out for another half an hour, just a routine patrol, but as he's putting the casserole dish in the oven to bake, his headset lights up and beeps.

Her voice comes over the comm. "It's me. I'm outside."

"Outside where?" he says, a bit suspicious. Her breath over the comm is harsh. "Front door or back?"

"Garage," she says.

"Coming."

When he gets to her, she's clutching her side. There's blood on her hands.

"You couldn't be bothered to-" He waggles his fingers to signify "magic." "-before you got home?"

"They had iron," she says, wincing.

"Iron? _Pure_ iron?"

"Someone knew it was my weakness," she says, and she stumbles getting out of the car. Diaval catches her.

"Come on. You're taking a shower and then I'm looking at that- what is it, gunshot or stab wound?"

"Stab wound," she says. "I can sew it myself."

"No, _I'm_ sewing it up, and you're lucky I don't sit in the bathroom while you shower to make sure you don't pass out."

"Fine," she says, and if she leans on him a little, he doesn't mention it.

She comes out of the shower ten minutes later in a sports bra and sweat pants, quite at odds with what people would suspect that the heir to the Marcheline fortune would wear during her downtime. She's pressing a towel to the still-bleeding wound, and she sits down at the kitchen table heavily.

It's not often that she gets hit with iron: more often it's copper from a bullet, broken glass, or someone's fists. Most of the time she doesn't get hit with anything at all, wonders of magic and all that. But iron is her weakness, and the results are not pretty. The edges of the slash are burned, as if the iron had been heated. He'll need to cut the burned parts off. She sits facing the back of the chair with her arms around the backrest, baring her ribs for him, and turns her head away. "Do it."

When he's done, she's still conscious but looking a bit distant. Her lips are pure white and her skin, when he touches it, is clammy. She moves to get up, but his firm hand on her shoulder keeps her down.

"You're going to pass out if you get up now," he says. "Stay there. I'm going to get the food out of the oven and you're going to tell me what happened."

He returns with the casserole dish almost immediately, the top a bit overdone but still edible. He puts one of the protein shakes in front of her, but she doesn't move to take it. Instead, still a little distantly, she says, "I missed. I finally found him, I aimed, and I fucking missed."

"Missed what?" says Diaval, taking his own drink in shaking hands. Sewing up a magically-burned wound takes a lot of a person.

"Stefan," she says, in that same oddly cool voice. "The Linchpin."

"Stefan _Lynch?_ The _mayor?_ " says Diaval. " _That_ Stefan?"

"Yes."

"Well, minus fifty points for originality," says Diaval. "If I was going to lead a super-secret criminal organization, I wouldn't name myself 'the Linchpin' if my last name was Lynch." Maleficent doesn't even acknowledge him. "But seriously, the mayor?"

"He runs everything. The newspapers, the police, the rot goes all the way to the top. He's in charge of the whole fucking operation. I was a conquest. He did this to me for _street cred!_ " She sweeps the glass off the table, and it shatters on the floor. Her shoulders are shaking.

"Did what?" says Diaval. Belatedly he realizes that it's probably a bad idea to bring it up.

She's silent for several long moments. Then, "He raped me. Robbed me of everything I had on me, left me for dead. Bet it was a shock to him when I came back to be CEO," she says. "And he did it, all of it, to prove he could. And now he's the Linchpin. And I _missed!_ "

She stands up, kicking the chair to one side. And then her eyes roll back in her head and she goes down like a rock, face white as chalk. Diaval, well used to this, puts her on her side in the fetal position and waits for her to wake up.

* * *

Maleficent on a work binge is kind of terrifying. She'll lock herself in her bedroom over a three-day weekend, pouring over stolen or photocopied files, trying to find a weakness she can exploit. Diaval makes her well-sweetened tea and implores her to take showers and nap like a normal person, ignoring the fact that she's technically not a normal person at all.

Tonight, she claims she's too busy to handle going out on patrol right now, and while he knows that while he's out on patrol, she's going to be combing satellite scans to find Stefan's secret base, he puts on his suit, straps on his knives and his guns, gets the second-best car, and goes out anyway. He's still a terrible fighter, despite his hours in the lair's gym, but he can handle himself well enough.

He spends a few hours scaring off muggers and intimidating carjackers: small things, things he can handle. And then he hears the distinct sound of an explosion and a woman's scream.

He runs, jumping onto a fire escape and climbing it to the roof. The explosion is two blocks down, and he runs across the rooftops until he's directly overhead. Someone, a blonde woman, climbs out of the wreckage of the car, clutching something tightly to her chest. She runs down the alley and he follows her from above, finally overtaking her by enough of a margin that he can climb down the fire escape and land in front of her.

He loves the effect it has.

She stops, pulling a gun out of her long overcoat. "Who are you?"

"Relax," he says. "I'm the Raven. I'm here to rescue you. I mean, if you need rescuing."

"The Raven?" She frowns. "You- do you know her? The Queen of the Night?"

He nods warily.

"Oh, thank God," she breathes. She hands him what she's holding: a wiggling, squirming child. "Look, you've got to take me to her, I need protection, I have information. His people are after me."

"Whose people?" he says, though he has a feeling he already knows.

"Stefan's," she says. "My husband. I've got to-"

Boom.

She looks down in confusion at her chest, where a rapidly spreading pool of blood is forming. She steps forward, grabbing his arm. "Keep her safe. My Aurora," she says. Then she falls, her eyes already going dull in the dim street lights. Up the alley, whatever goons were chasing her are rapidly closing in. They fire again, missing Diaval by inches. Not seeing any other options, he clicks the car remote in his back pocket. The car is programmed to find him at whatever location the button was clicked, and it's not too far away.

To buy himself some time, he sticks the kid on the fire escape and prays that she's smart enough to not crawl off the edge. Drawing his first gun, he steadies it with both hands and shoots. The first guy goes down. Next target, aim, fire. His shot goes wide and he aims again, successfully hitting the next guy. He hears the sound of a car engine, and he has the unexpected joy of seeing the final two baddies turn in shock as the car drives itself right into them, sending them flying.

He puts the safety back on and puts the gun into its holster. Grabbing the sobbing kid off the fire escape, he buckles her into the front seat as best he can and drives like hell back to the lair, pulling into the secret cave entrance to the garage in record time.

He takes the kid into the kitchen, sits her on a chair, and makes a pan of warm milk. In better light, he can see that she's tiny, maybe a year and half old. Blonde, like her mother, with huge blue eyes that are currently filled with tears. Even if she doesn't understand what's going on, he'd bet that she was scared of the loud noises of the gunshots and explosions. Leaving the milk for a moment, he picks her up and bounces her, patting her on the back, the movement strangely natural to him.

"Diaval? I heard-" Maleficent is in the doorway, looking the way she always does after a work binge. She stares at him in shock. "What is that?"

"It's a baby," he says, trying to buy time.

"I know that," she says. "I mean, why is it in my kitchen?"

"She's a she," he says. "I'll explain in a bit. Sit down."

"You will explain right now and I will not sit down," she says. "Do you know whose daughter she is?"

"Yes. Do you?"

"Of course I do, she's his daughter," says Maleficent. "So why is the daughter of my archenemy in my house?"

Diaval explains what happened in the alley while, one-handed, he adds honey to the warm milk and takes it off the burner. He gets a ladle from a drawer and a couple of mugs from a cupboard.

"Whatever she was to him, she was going to expose him," he says. "Whatever it was she was going to expose, I don't know. She asked me to help her. What was I supposed to do, let the kid die?"

"And you didn't think about the implications of that? I can guarantee you that the headlines tomorrow will read, 'Masked Vigilante Implicated In Death of Mayor's Wife And Kidnapping Of His Daughter'!"

"Like you care about the headlines."

"I care when I'm harboring his child-"

"-who knows nothing about him, or us, or anyone. Are you going to blame her for what he did to you?"

Maleficent stops, and for a second he thinks he's won. Then he realizes she's looking at Aurora. "What?" She takes a step towards him and reaches out her hand, and without thinking he pulls back protectively. " _What?_ "

"Around her neck," Maleficent says, "look."

He looks. On a length of aluminum ball chain around her neck, there's a flash drive. Labelled, in Sharpie, "Evidence."

Maleficent snatches the flash drive and retreats to her room before Diaval can ask what he should do with the kid. He gets her stop crying, finally, and the honey milk he makes even gets her to smile. His own milk goes cold while he bounces her in his arms. She slaps a sticky hand on the scar by his left eye, apparently fascinated by it, and he smiles.

"Okay, that's cute," he says, "but we need to go to bed now." She looks puzzled. Frankly, so is he. Where's he going to put her? He's pretty sure you're not supposed to sleep in the same bed as a kid or you'll smother them, or maybe that's just really little babies? He's not sure. And they don't have a crib or anything. Damn it. What if she falls off the bed?

He carries her to his room in the mansion anyway. One night probably isn't going to kill her.

Officially, he lives at the mansion because driving Maleficent to F.A.E. each morning is one of his many PA duties. He has what used to be the guest bedroom, while Maleficent takes the master suite across the hall. His bedroom alone is bigger than his old apartment, with its ratty furniture and peeling wallpaper, and overall he really can't complain.

He puts Aurora on the four-poster bed and draws the curtains, then puts his pajamas on. Opening the bedcurtains again, he realizes that the back of her white dress has blood spatter on it. He'll have to get her clothes later, ones that hide stains better. And diapers, he thinks, getting into bed. There's no smell, not yet at least, but there will be soon. Fuck. What has he gotten himself into?

She looks at him expectantly and he blinks at her.

"What?"

"Stawwy," she says.

He makes a face at her and she giggles. "What?"

"Stawwy," she says again, like it will make more sense the second time around. Then it clicks.

"You want a story?" he asks. She nods.

Diaval sighs. He hasn't done this in years, not since the orphanage, and he's a little rusty at it. "Okay. Once upon a time, there was a queen who longed for a child with all her heart. One day, she pricked her finger while sewing by the window, and three drops of blood fell from her finger onto the snow below..."

By the time he's finished, Aurora is asleep. He tucks her into the blankets, and lets himself smooth the hair away from her forehead gently. She doesn't stir, so she's hopefully a heavy sleeper. Maybe if he's lucky she'll stay that way.

Christ, he needs a shower. Maybe he can grab one and hope she doesn't wake up before he finishes. Very carefully, he slides out of the bed, grabs a towel from where it's draped casually over his desk chair, and almost bumps into Maleficent on the way of the door. She looks even more excited than usual, holding the flash drive triumphantly.

"It's here," she says. "It's all here. His shipments, his payroll, everything."

"What are you going to do with it?" he asks.

"Not turn it over to the police, that's for sure," she says. "Or the newspapers. He owns this city, Diaval, he's not going to let this get out if he's willing to murder his own wife to keep it safe."

"What, then?" he asks. "The feds?"

"There's always the much simpler option of killing all of them," she says.

"What- no. You're not. There's no way."

"Why not?" she says. "I have everything: their addresses, their headquarters, all of it."

"That's hundreds of people! Are you seriously going to risk your life-"

"I don't care about my life!" she says. "I want him dead!"

I care, he thinks, but he doesn't say it. "Look," he says, trying appeal to her cunning if not her reason, "right now, his goons will be combing the streets looking for that flash drive, never mind Aurora. Give it a while. If you act like you don't have the information, keep going on patrol as usual, then he won't try hard to look for it. He'll think it was lost, or destroyed, certainly not in your hands. After a while, he'll forget, and you can strike when he least expects it, as opposed to now, when he's on high alert."

"You want me to wait."

"I want you to be smart about this."

"Fine," she says at last. "What about the kid?" He looks at her hopefully. "No. Absolutely not."

"What are we gonna do, throw her out in the street?"

"She's dangerous. She's a liability."

"She's a child."

" _His_ child."

"What does it matter? He tried to kill her, Mal. If I hadn't been holding her, or if the car had landed just wrong enough, then she'd be dead, on his orders, by his own men. That doesn't make me think he cares about her overmuch." She says nothing, so he presses on. "You took me in, Mal, and believe me, when you did, I was far from innocent. How can you not do the same for her?"

"Don't make me regret that decision," she snaps. "I still remember what I promised you if you ever betrayed me."

"And I still remember promising to do whatever you need," he snaps back. "When have I ever asked you for anything else?"

Maleficent glares at him. He stands his ground. Green magic pools in the palm of the hand resting on her hip, almost subconsciously. Finally, she sighs, knowing this is one argument she won't win. "Alright. But she's your responsibility."

"You make her sound like a stray puppy," says Diaval, moving towards the bathroom. "Don't worry, I promise I'll feed her and brush her and give her walkies."

"If she's a puppy, what does that make you?"

"I'm not a dog!" he calls down the hallway, but she's already cackling behind her bedroom door.

* * *

Maleficent lays low after that. She throws herself into her daytime work, aggressively attacking PR threats and spending hours in R&D, and then comes home to fine-tune her final assault on the Linchpin's headquarters, only to go out on patrol late into the night. The bodies of criminals start to pile up, and the newspapers call her a supervillain, a public menace. They call for her unmasking and arrest. The death of Leila Lynch and the disappearance of Aurora only adds to the fury. Stefan Lynch, with his neatly trimmed beard and tailored suits, appears on television almost every night, teary-eyed, asking that whatever monster kidnapped his daughter to please, please give her back. The press conferences always end with a reminder of the hefty reward for any information related to her whereabouts.

Meanwhile, Diaval spends some of his outrageous and largely unspent salary on a crib, dresses and overalls and onesie pajamas, and as many diaper-changing supplies as he can carry. He buys a carseat and a baby backpack and dolls, books on raising children and books of fairy tales, a mobile of birds to hang over the crib. Maleficent quietly grants him a leave of absence with pay for unspecified reasons, and he takes advantage of his free time by taking Aurora to the zoo, the aquarium, and the library. He dyes her hair black to help her blend in, until Maleficent points out that she _is magic, you idiot_ , and helps construct a more permanent glamour.

"Aren't you overdoing it just a tad?" says Maleficent one morning, while Diaval pours Aurora a little bowl of Cheerios and watches her intently for signs of choking.

"Out of the two of us," he says, pouring his own cereal, "I think you're ahead in the 'overdoing it' department."

A month passes, then two. Diaval feels safe enough to put Aurora in daycare, with the glamour firmly in place and forged papers that call her Rory and claim that he's her father, granted full custody after her mother waived her rights. The media firestorm dies down, but still simmers. After six months, a single memorial is broadcast to commemorate what would have been the poor girl's second birthday. Diaval and Aurora (and Maleficent, once he can pry her from her study) celebrate it with ice cream cake.

"And what will you do," says Maleficent, "when she has to go to school, three years from now? When she's old enough to ask if she's adopted?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," says Diaval, putting the used dishes in the sink. He gets a wet washcloth from the sink and goes to wipe Aurora's sticky face.

Maleficent grabs his arm. "This is important, Diaval."

"I know," he says. "But I can't- I don't want this to end."

"It's going to have to," she says. She purses her lips. "Stefan will be dead by the end of the week."

"Are you-"

"Yes. He meets with his top lieutenants every three months. This Sunday's meeting will be his last."

Diaval draws a tentative breath.

"I've left most of it to you," she says. "Not the company, but my inheritance and my effects. In case I-"

"You can't," he says. "I haven't stuck with you this long for you to die on me."

"You have to accept the possibility. If I fail, you need to wait until my will is executed, then run. Get out of this festering city. You won't be able to use legal channels," she says. "The first thing they'll do is take her away from you."

"Let me come with you," he says. "You'll need backup."

"And if you die, who will she have? I have to to this alone."

"You're asking me to sit back and do nothing."

"I'm asking you to be smart about this." His words thrown back at him feel like a slap in the face.

"At least keep your comm on," he says.

"Only to say goodbye," she says. "You won't get there in time even if I called."

"Try me."

Maleficent huffs something almost like a laugh. "Alright."

They orbit each other quietly for the next few days. The pressure in the atmosphere tightens until, right before Maleficent dons her suit for what she hopes is the last time, Diaval meets her at the secret entrance. The trick bookcase is already open, the sliding pole waiting for her to descend.

"Good luck," he says. "Please, don't do anything reckless."

"I fight crime in a catsuit and cowl," she says. "This is hardly reckless for me."

"My humor is finally starting to rub off on you," he says, and his voice doesn't break.

"Yes, it is," she says slowly. "How awful." In a moment, she's turning away from the hole in the floor and threading her fingers through his hair, dragging his face to hers, kissing him with a desperation equal to his. He kisses her back, pulling her to him with an arm around her waist. Maybe if he holds her tight enough, she won't want to leave. He pours everything he has ever felt for her into that kiss, everything he has ever held back.

And then he hears Aurora crying from her high chair in the kitchen. He can't stay, and neither can she. Slowly, painfully, he pulls away. She smooths his hair between her fingers one last time, and then she grips the sliding pole with her legs, the trick bookcase closing behind her. He does not say goodbye. He does not say "I love you."

He goes back to the kitchen, picks Aurora up, puts his headset on. She pats his face with her little hands. "Da'va cwy?"

"It's okay, little one," he lies. "Everything's going to be fine."

"Ma gone?"

"Not for long, if I can help it," he says. He's starting to form a plan, albeit a foolish one. "Come on, sweetheart," he says, hoisting her out of the chair. "We're going to go visit your father."

* * *

The guards outside the Keystone, Stefan's secret headquarters, are already unconscious by the time Diaval arrives. He parks the car a safe distance away, keeping the keys in his pocket. Aurora is in her carseat, sleeping heavier than usual due to the bit of Benedryl he slipped into her honey milk. He can only thank any and all deities that she fell asleep from it instead of getting more hyperactive. He felt bad about drugging her, and worse about leaving her in the car, but the car is at least bullet- and grenade-proof. He sets the car to signal the police department if the car is damaged in any way or if the doors aren't open in a couple of hours. If he dies, well, she'll at least be in safe hands, even if they're not his.

Like a shadow, he slips into the open doors, checking for security cameras. They've been twisted off their wall supports: Maleficent's work. It's then that he notices that the threshhold and intricate winding staircase are made of wrought iron. Not steel, but actual wrought iron. He goes up the stairs as quickly and quietly as he can. More men are unconscious by the landing, lining the hallways with their bodies. Why hasn't anyone found them yet?

Another flight of stairs, and no fire escape outside or elavator within. The only way up is to take the stairs. A sinking feeling is forming in the pit of his stomach. He puts a hand on his guns as he reaches the landing. The board room is supposed to be at the end of this hall. The rooms and halls here are empty, but the room at the end has the lights still on, and the sound of laughter is seeping out of the open door. Dread filling him, he stills, listening instead of moving.

"So how does it feel," says the calm, polished tones of a politician, "to be brought so low, in a world where you don't belong?" The sound of flesh striking flesh.

"Fuck you." That's Maleficent's voice, tired but still fighting. Diaval creeps closer to the door.

"Maybe I will, if you beg for it," says Stefan. "You always did like that. You begged so prettily that night-"

Maleficent screams, and Diaval knows without looking that Stefan is pressing pure iron to her bare skin.

"But what will you ask for? Not _your_ life, oh no. Maybe the life of that butler of yours? Or his darling daughter?"

Maleficent laughs, a long, harsh laugh that turns into a cough. "You fool! Did you really not see?"

"See what?" A note of doubt creeps into the cultured voice.

"Your daughter has been living with me all along," cackles Maleficent. "And not once did you think to look!"

" _What!_ "

"You lost her the day you tried to kill her," says Maleficent. "And I'll never tell you where-" Another scream.

"Oh, yes, you will," says Stefan, and Diaval decides he's heard enough. He opens the door, drawing his guns, and takes in the scene before him: Maleficent wrapped in wrought-iron chains, her cowl on the floor, her face bloodied and her hair unbound; Stefan standing over her, an iron rod in his hands; his henchmen, all armed, forming a ring around them.

"Heard someone was looking for me," he says, his voice surprisingly calm. And then he fires.

He shoots six of Stefan's associates before they can even think to draw, dodging two shots from the opposite end of the room. Stefan moves away, drawing his own gun and falling behind his desk. Diaval moves to Maleficent's side and unwraps the chains around her. She glares at him, green magic gathering in her hands.

"You are an absolute- duck!"

Diaval does, and she aims a spell over his head. The man who fired goes down clawing at his throat.

"I'm the Raven!" Diaval protests. "Somehow-" Fire. "-I don't think-" Punch. "-that the Duck-" Elbow, uppercut, leg sweep. "-is that dignified."

"Save the wit for later," says Maleficent, and her hands suck the remaining criminals into the air. They bump into each other, yelling in fear, until Maleficent throws them to the ground, hard.

Stefan has pushed some sort of button behind his desk, revealing a passageway out. Maleficent runs, then vaults over the desk, covering the hole in the floor with a magical seal. "No," she says. "Not this time."

"Please," says Stefan, whimpering.

Maleficent flashes him a vindictive smile. "Oh, I like you begging. _Do it again._ "

"Maleficent, please, I beg you," he says, scrabbling away from her. "Please, don't kill me."

Maleficent looks at him, his suit stained in her blood and his perfect hair in disarray.

"No."

She lifts him into the air with a surge of green magic. A twist of her hands, and he falls, neck broken. He's dead before he hits the floor.

Maleficent stares at him, at his broken body. Then she turns to Diaval. "What were you thinking?"

"Well, if that's the thanks I get for saving your life-"

"Where's Aurora? What did you even-" She grabs his shoulders and shakes them, hard. "Don't do that again."

"Hopefully, I won't need to," he says. "Stefan is dead. So are most of his top men."

"To the rest of the city, I've just killed the mayor," she says. "The news will break by morning."

"So we run," he says. "Somewhere no one will find us. Somewhere that doesn't need us."

"People will always need us," she says. "They need the ones with powers, or enough heart and stupidity to make up for it-"

"Hey!"

"-they'll need us to protect them."

Diaval picks her cowl off the ground. There's a cut over her left eye, already healing, and the blood is tacky on her face. She has never looked more beautiful, and he leans in to kiss her.

A metallic voice interrupts them. "This building will self-destruct in thirty seconds."

"Let's start with just Aurora," he says.

They run.


End file.
